A Tale of Two Pork Chops
It has been brought to my attention (yet again) that Twin and I cannot cook.*sigh*
I try. I do. And the only success I have had is with pork chops. Not to brag (yeah, right) but my pork chops ROCK. Creation of a pork chop is a delicate business. I told Twin so.
So of course to prove me wrong, Twin tried to make a better pork chop.
Twin takes pork chop, carefully places it in hot pan with little butter. Hot pan is set to get hotter. Soon, butter burns, pork chop sticks to pan. Smoke pours forth. Swearing ensues.
In nice counterpoint to swearing, smoke alarm goes off. Profanity reaches crescendo as Cat disappears into closet, and I begin clawing at alarm. Twin decides to open window and switch on oven fan.
Sadly, idiots at apartment complex painted over smoke alarm. Without hammer and pick, I leave Twin and Cat to go in search of aid. Communicated intention with wild gesticulation right before slamming door.
Alas, the only person I could find was my (equally incompetent) Chinese neighbor. My age, she is an international student (I think) and speaks poor English. Soon, what little English she knew was being utilized in a most expressive fashion. "Paint? IS Paint! Fuck!"
"YES!" I cried. "Fuck!" After several more affirmations of the same ilk, she left laughing at us. I like her.
Twin and I sat outside until beeping subsided. Cat hissed at Twin when extracted from closet. Immediately became contrite when fed pork chop.
posted by Jill @ 4:30 PM
15 comments
